


2 A.M.

by Emerald_Fire3510



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Gen, I'm sooooo not sorry, Like, Modern AU, Short and bitter-sweet, The Bagginshield is so slight, You have to squint, it was just something to inspire me to write on my main fic XD, not even a little, not sorry still
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-18
Updated: 2015-05-18
Packaged: 2018-03-31 02:41:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3961414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emerald_Fire3510/pseuds/Emerald_Fire3510
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He wasn't....Gods, he wasn't supposed to feel so much akin to this man. It was like every other time he had done this, so why does he want to reach out to this man now?</p>
<p>Gods, this sucked.</p>
<p>(Modern AU)</p>
            </blockquote>





	2 A.M.

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! this is just a quick little something i wanted to post, hopefully it'll get me goin' on my other story :')
> 
> Enjoy!

He’d never really been a pessimist, not really, just a realist. He knew when things were tough, and he wasn’t going to sugar coat it for you; he wasn’t like that, because the lies and the sweet nothings just made it all harder.

He knew, because he’d been in a situation like this, too.

He never liked this part of the job; the crying, the heartbreak, the ever-lasting _sadness_  at the mention of whatever had caused him to be at people’s doors at the time.

It was horrible, and heart wrenching to see people like this; at their worst, and most vulnerable.

When he was little, he had people try to tell him lies. They tried to ‘cushion the blow’, but they just made it worse. His mother was  _dead_ , couldn't they just tell him that, instead of  _She's not going to be able to come home._ Hell, he knew what that casket was for that had been lowered into the ground. It wasn't Empty, and even in his five-year-old mind he knew his mother's bent and misshapen body had lain within that damned, bloody, casket.

Telling a kid flowery words and soft nothings does not ‘help’ them, nor does it make it easier for them.

It makes it worse.

He would know, he was here before. He’s been through the same emotions, though the things to cause them are different, it’s all the same.

Shock.

Horror.

Anguish.

Anger.

Sorrow.

Yeah, he’s been here before; his job never lessons his pain, just adds to his burden.

The pain never lessons; this- this  _shit_  never gets easier like they say.

The spouses' or parents' pain twisted faces, the confusion on the little ones faces when they are told the news. It all just... _sucked_ to see. No words could describe the breaking sobs of a man, or the hollowing wails of the mother. The silent  _self-blame_  of the father. Or the hurt and confused faces of the child.  _Sorry, sweetheart, daddy isn't coming home_. 

The words felt like bile on his tongue, making him turn green at the taste. The syllables tumbled from his throat like an avalanche, and the grief could  _never_ be bleached from his mind.

The man fell to the floor and let-out a heart stopping wail, as the news finally sunk in. He waited patiently, pain crinkling around his eyes at the sight of such a proud looking man, brought low by the not-so-simple words of:

“Sir, a word? I’m sorry to say, but…..Your she was killed in a three-way wreck; A police car was chasing a robber and he gunned in past a red light, T-boning her as she entered the intersection. The police car rammed into the other man’s back, launching her from the car and into a ditch.”

The man clutched at his chest, where his heart was, and started muttering “No. No no no no no.” Over and over, and he winced, swallowing the lump inside his throat.

Bilbo swallowed tightly and licked his lips, holding back tears as he choked out“I’m sorry for your loss, Mr. Durin, but your sister is dead.”

"No....no....this isn't right....Gods, why? She just went out for a moment...s-she left the youngest with me....." the man muttered, clutching at his head. His head shot up, his eyes wide in horror. "F-fili...?"

"The young boy made it out alive....he's....he's in the Emergency ward, going through surgery; a large shard of glass from the back window was found at the base of his neck and lodged between his vertebrae...." Bilbo told the man. "He should-" He licked his lips and cleared his throat at the nervous, black talons squeezing his heart "-he should survive." He said at last.

"Should!?" The man growled, tears still streaming down his cheeks.

"Uncwe?" a little voice called. From around the wall, a little boy came out on wobbly legs. He was rubbing his left eye, his black long hair twisted and knotted on one side. "Ware Fee?" He asked him softly.

The man swallowed, and met the boy, picking him up and holding him close as he told him 'Fee' was, and that they should go see him.

"I can take you, if you'd like; My car is faster." Bilbo offered tiredly. The man only nodded, and grabbed a blanket and his cell before following the officer out of his house.

He sighed, as he drove down the highway. The man had been silent, and the child had been asleep for the past seven minutes. Another man is left without a sister, and more children without a mother.

Eyes on the road, he could feel the tension in the air like a thick cloud of gnats.

He hated his job, but he knew that if he didn’t do it...

 

...Who would?


End file.
